“Can’t you come out?”
“I’m afraid not—to stay.” By way of compromise, she sat down on the window sill, while Alec perched opposite on the piazza railing.
“Alec,” Blue Bonnet said emphatically, “I want you to bear me witness that I hate dusting.”
Alec laughed.
“I think the person who invented claw-foot furniture and all those detestable, twisted posts, and so on—ought to be publicly anathematized,” Blue Bonnet declared. “I like nice, plain, light-colored furniture—that don’t show the dust.”
“A pretty house you’d have!”
“I shouldn’t stay in it any more than I could help, anyway.”
“See here, Elizabeth, I haven’t time to discuss social economics—”
“What are they?”
“I’m going to drive you and Sarah in the dogcart this afternoon—that horse of the Blakes isn’t precisely a Maud S.—and it would be too bad if you two only got there in time to come home with the crowd.”